My L.A. friend Ilene — we grew up together in Teaneck, NJ — calls me “Wanderlust Dude.” She’s amazed that every year, within 48 hours after
returning from my cross-country road trip, I’ve driven to Montauk, or Vermont, or someplace else that takes a car to get to — after having spent the previous four weeks in a car! By now, I’m guessing that Ilene — and most of you — have gotten used to the travel patterns of Mr. and Mrs. Beagle Man: Whether it’s beaching in Montauk or skiing in Vermont — or visiting in Atlanta or Nashville or Austin — we seem to be away more weekends than we’re home.
This, of course, is why I set up the Kemba hand-off with Steve the Breeder the date I did: I wanted to bring home my baby when I knew I’d be in Westport for at least a few weekends in a row. In fact, Kemba and I had a nice, uninterrupted 2.5 weeks to get used to each other before Wanderlust Dude was off again last Thursday — this time to L.A., for Family Weekend at USC.
On the one hand, I was kinda looking forward to the get-away: The first few weeks with a little puppy are exhausting. Though Kemba very cooperatively sleeps through the night, he tends to get up, with tons of uncaffeinated puppy energy, at around 6AM. I imagine this played well in his native Nova Scotia, but as most of you know, that’s a smidge early for the Beagle Man’s blood. So the thought of sleeping in under the comforters at the dreamy Casa Del Mar, then getting out and going for my morning run to Venice Beach and back along the ocean promenade, with the Santa Monica Pier as backdrop,
seemed pretty appetizing.
On the other hand . . . as I’ve mentioned before, that very promenade might just as well bill itself as Dog Capital of the Western World. Huskies and Pomeranians and Golden Doodles and Beagles and French Bulldogs, all being walked and biked and roller-blades — yes, even Segwayed — by the spandexed fitness elite of Santa Monica. If there was ever a place to remind you you’d left your dog behind, I was at its epicenter.
On Sunday evening, Carol checked in with Luz. Carol has a habit of putting almost every phone conversation on speaker, so I heard Luz say, loud and clear, “Kemba misses his daddy.” That night I had a dream (I swear this is true): Kemba was lying on my chest with his paws around my neck . . . but he refused to lick my face! In real life, he always licks my face. Endlessly. I felt awful in the dream, and later, awake — ditto.
When we got home Monday night I eagerly opened the door from the garage — and got bowled over by Kemba. Jumping, running in crazy circles, kissing — and yes, facelicking. Endless facelicking. Apparently, all was forgiven.
I won’t leave you again, Kemba. I promise. At least not until . . . Well, not right away.
LOOK FOR A NEW BEAGLE MAN POST EVERY THURSDAY. OR PRETTY CLOSE TO THURSDAY. COULD BE WEDNESDAY. OR FRIDAY. LET’S NOT GET TOO OBSESSIVE HERE . . . 
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